


i am the fire (and you're the rain)

by orphan_account



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Ambiguous Gender, Consensual spanking, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Gender Neutral, Light BDSM, Reader-Insert, Spanking, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6404053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were bad. Fortunately, Sebastian knows just how to rectify that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am the fire (and you're the rain)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burbear/gifts).



> I don't own Sebastian Stan, and everything was made in good fun. Also, [burbear](http://archiveofourown.org/users/burbear), tell Satan hi for me when you die from all these dom Sebstan feels, alright?

“I heard what you did today,” he said from the doorway. You tilted your head a little to catch the words easier, but otherwise didn’t look up from the book in your lap. You hadn’t turned a page since you heard his key in the lock ten minutes ago. You figured he’d come find you when he was ready.

Sebastian stepped further into the room and his bag made a noise as it slid from his shoulder and hit the ground. He seemed unperturbed. His eyes were trained on you, intense in their focus, and you fidgeted a little in your seat from the attention.

“Not gonna answer?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft and sweet. You suppressed a shiver. You were in for it tonight. Sebastian climbed into your lap and tossed your book aside, pinched your cheek between two of his fingers and forced it up so your eyes met.

Your breathing was thready and light, your heart racing in your chest, but you met his gaze head on. His lips curved into a smirk when he saw the almost defiant look in them. “Don’t think you were bad, do you?”

You shook your head, but still didn’t speak. You knew you’d be in bigger trouble if you did. You’d already slipped into the scene, could tell what he wanted as soon as he came home. If he wanted to be sweet and loving, with no undertones, then he would have come straight to you. He would have climbed into your lap with a gentle smile and a soft kiss, instead of avoided you so he could get into the correct frame of mind.

His fingers tightened on your chin to an almost painful degree. Your pupils must have dilated, because his breath hissed as he sucked it in. He always did like it when you flushed for him, when you writhed and panted. “Do you think you deserve to be rewarded?” His words were cloyingly sweet. A storm was brewing just behind his blue eyes.

Slowly, you shook your head.

“What happens when you need to be punished?” he asked. For a moment you forgot yourself and opened your mouth as if to respond. You snapped it closed when the words were on the tip of your tongue, realization gripping you. He still hadn’t said you were allowed to speak. His eyes glinted as his smile turned devious, sinful. You wanted to press your lips to his, to nip at his bottom one and suck into your mouth so you could nibble on it a little.

But you’d been bad, and you knew he wouldn’t let you get what your way tonight.

“I want you to go into the bedroom,” he breathed as he leaned closed, teased you with the briefest flicker of hope that he might press his lips to yours. He exhaled the words over your tingling lips. “I want you to get undressed and lay flat on the bed.” He paused a moment and seemed to think that over before he added, “On your stomach, or else I’ll be even more cross with you.”

You did as you were told. He climbed off of your lap and watched you leave the room. Your head was cloudy, fogged over. You were already sinking into the blissful waves and letting him take over. It was always so pleasant when you gave up the reins, let him guide you and tell you what to do, how to be good, how to be just what he wanted. The pleasure tingled in your veins and mixed in with anticipation, nerves, a little anxiety over what he was going to do.

You knew what he was going to do.

You wondered if he’d use his palm or a belt. Maybe he would use something even harder than that. He’d need a firm hand or tool to really make you realize how bad you’d been. You’d flirted in that interview, done it on purpose because you’d knew he’d seen. You’d wanted him to see. He always had the best reactions whenever you were a little naughty, whenever you pushed his buttons on purpose. He wasn’t a jealous person, but he’d seen the way you’d smiled and side eyed the camera. You’d done it just for him.

You stripped efficiently and were almost tempted to leave the clothes where they fell, but you knew how he liked it. You folded them carefully and set them aside on a chair in the corner, the one he used sometimes to watch you unhurriedly get yourself off. That wasn’t for tonight, however, and you pushed the thought from your mind. You didn’t want to rile yourself up too fast. This would never last if you did.

It was almost ten minutes before he came in after you’d laid down. You tried to be good. You barely moved at all and only shifted your hips a little against the sheets, felt a little relief from the sensation of the cloth rubbing against your skin. He came in right when you’d rolled your hips maybe a little too much. He clucked his tongue and you could practically picture him shaking his head, his hair a little messy but still carefully tousled.

“Just can’t be good tonight,” he lamented, tone sad, as if he was disappointed in you. You hissed a breath between your teeth at the thought. You’d _disappointed_ him.

Things rustled in the closet, but he didn’t describe what he planned on doing tonight. Usually he’d tell you what he was doing if you weren’t allowed to look, explain what he planned on doing and detailing everything. It always made the anticipation sweeter. This only made it more painful. You liked that though. It was a nice change of pace from how things usually were, when the two of you weren’t like this.

You didn’t mind a little pain. You relished it because of its differences.

A hand touched your bare ass cheek. He stroked it gently and let his fingers stretch out, so he could really grasp the meat of it. He clenched his fingers to an almost painful degree and you made the smallest noise of pain. He stopped and pulled his fingers almost completely away, only let the tips of them trace against your skin. You whined because of the loss, squirmed a little against the sheets.

Suddenly his hand came down, _hard_. The sound echoed through the room along with your cry of surprise. He let the sensation draw out, really let the pain settle under your skin and start a slow burn in your belly. You whimpered and arched your ass up a little further, tried to entice him to do it again. Instead he patted your ass almost affectionately and then drew away.

Noises came out of you as he readied things. You didn’t dare try to turn and glance at what he’d retrieved. You knew you wouldn’t get what you needed tonight if you did. He’d become disappointed again, frown and shake his head, talk about how you didn’t trust him to give you what you needed. You did trust him. You really did. He always gave you exactly what you craved, exactly what you had to have to be _good_.

It was almost two whole minutes before he seemed to be ready to do anything again. He reached out and stroked a hand down your spine, let it settle in the dip of your lower back and trace patterns there. “You’re going to count them,” he told you in a firm, low whisper. “I’m going to give you ten. If you’re bad,” he said and you could practically hear him raise his brows over that last word, “then I’m going to stop giving you what you need and take what _I_ want.”

You whimpered. You knew exactly what he meant by that. He’d want to roll you over, hold you down, and fuck himself into your open, waiting mouth. You liked the idea of his dick on your tongue, the sharp flavor of his precum dripping slowly out of his slit, but you _needed_ the pain. It was what you’d been craving all night.

“Tell me you understand,” Sebastian murmured, “and give me a color.”

“Green,” you replied instantly, your voice cracking on the word. It felt like you hadn’t spoken at all for _hours_ , though that wasn’t the case. You hurried to follow his other command. “And I understand, sir, I do, I understand.”

“I’m going to use the belt this time,” Sebastian told you. He didn’t have to. He could have let it surprise you as it cracked over your ass. He only told you so that it would ramp up your anticipation further. “I think you deserve to really have a mark after this.” He paused and his next words were a little shaky, the idea breaking through his usual calm demeanor. “I want you to remember this whenever you try to sit down for the next few days. I want you to remember how you were bad and how I helped you to learn to be better.”

You made a noise against your will, because it was too _much_. You couldn’t contain it. Your entire body felt like it was on fire. You felt like you were going to melt into the bed and never be able to function again. You needed this so bad that it clogged up your throat, made your eyes swim and go a little blurry. You couldn’t _focus_. You just had this all-consuming need that filled your head with a heady, breathless feeling.

“Remember,” he told you, “that you’re counting. If you don’t count, you don’t get the next one.” He reached out and clenched his fingers into one of your ass cheeks, made sure you could really feel it. You nodded and bit your lower lip, stifled your whimper. “Do you understand?” he asked, and you knew he did it just to hear the thready quality of your voice, to listen to you stumble over your words.

For a moment, your lips didn’t cooperate. They refused to move, and when they finally did, they felt numb and awkward. “Yes,” you replied in a soft whisper, because anything more than that and your voice would crack and crumble. Sebastian’s fingers dug into your cheek one last time before he released it. He patted it gently, as if he was telling it sorry for the damage he was about to do, and then he drew back completely.

He drew out the moment. You felt the air around you almost buzz with the excitement of the first hit. You wanted it so much that it made time seem to slow down, draw out. You wanted it _now_ , but of course he wouldn’t give it to you so quickly nor so easily. He had to make sure you knew that it was him who was in charge. He was the one calling the shots, not you. This was supposed to teach you that, because of your insolence earlier, because of your cheeky way of jabbing at him.

The first hit was softer than his normal swings. He did it on purpose if only to hear your breath stutter out of you in disappointed surprise than anything else. It only made your body crave it harder next time, for him to pull his arm as far back as it could reasonably go without hurting you unreasonably. You bit your lower lip to keep yourself from demanding more.

 

The moment drew out. You felt your nerves squirm because he still hadn’t hit you again. “O-oh,” you breathed as you realized. “One,” was the next thing you said, because you were supposed to be _counting_. You were so lost in your own head and your own wants that you’d forgotten one of the few rules he’d set up for this scene.

You could practically hear Sebastian’s smile as he said, “Good,” and then struck you again. This time it was more to your liking. The sound of the belt against your flesh set your teeth on edge, but in a good way. You wanted to hear it _again_. You wanted it to echo in your ears long after the leather had removed itself from your flesh.

“Two,” you grit out. This time you could feel the burn from where he’d struck you. It’d start to leave marks now. That was what really set off the simmer in your belly, made it curl up tight and clench in time with your heart’s beating.

“Three,” you said as soon as he’d hit you again. The belt made a pleasant noise as it swung through the air right before it smacked into your flesh. You closed your eyes to try and savor it more. Four and five hit on the opposite cheek that he’d been favoring. You’d probably started to grow a little too loose with it, start to anticipate what was coming and not react as he’d wanted.

“Six,” you gasped as he hit the very top of your ass, right where your lower back ended and your bottom began. He paused now and you could hear him set the belt down for a moment. A bottle opened and you realized, dazedly, that he’d actually prepared enough to _bring a drink_. He’d really thought this through enough to realize he might get _thirsty_ in the middle of it.

Your arms were stretched up toward the headboard, and you used their position to curl your fingers into the fabric of a pillow. You needed something to tether you down or else you felt like you might float away. There was a squirmy, unpleasant feeling in your stomach the longer Sebastian made you wait. The bed dipped as he set both knees on it and climbed atop so he could hover over you.

“Sebastian,” you started, right when he used his open palm to smack against one of the more aching marks the belt had left behind. You cried out and your whole body jerked in surprise.

“Don’t talk unless it’s to count,” he told you in a commanding voice. You whimpered in reply, if only because he sounded so _steely_ and _angry_ as he said it. Sebastian being angry at you was always a—it was an _experience_.

You nodded your head rapidly to show you’d heard. You wouldn’t make the mistake of speaking again, not unless he commanded you to. Not unless he _allowed_ you to, because he was the one in charge and you were the one who only got to do what he _deigned_ to let you do.

He set his water bottle back down and you heard him pluck up the belt again. It made a sound as he ran it leisurely through his fingers, let it slip from them and fall to gently touch the middle of your back. He did this several times as if his only aim was to _tease_ you. You figured that was probably his intent, actually, and you might have caught on to it sooner if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own head.

The seventh, eighth and ninth strike came out of left field and rapidly after one another. He’d let the belt touch several other places on your back while he stroked over it, before he’d pulled his arm back and let it fly against your ass again. You jerked against the bed and arched into the sheets, released a moan that started out soft and only grew in volume with each consecutive hit. It was hard to mumble the numbers for the count, but somehow you did it, though the last one was more garbled gibberish than anything.

The last strike was drawn out. Sebastian didn’t want to give it to you too soon, or else the entire ordeal would be wasted. “Hold on,” he said and set the belt aside, got to his feet, and left you on the bed. “Don’t move,” he ordered and then you could hear him poke around inside the closet again. It only took a few moments, but it felt like it dragged on forever. Once he finally returned, however, he stroked his hand gently over your rear, let his fingers dig in at a few places where you knew you’d been especially marked up.

He swung his hand down and the paddle—your favorite, the one he very rarely used nowadays because you enjoyed it _too much_ —down onto your flesh. You practically howled the last number, arched your back and then came completely untouched. It took awhile before you could float out of your own head, before you could manage to return enough to reality to realize that Sebastian had started to stroke gently over your abused skin with lotion.

“Don’t want it to be too bad,” he whispered when you’d turned just enough to glance at him. His lips twitched up into a smile that reached his eyes, warmed them up and made you melt a little bit more. You reached out and plucked the lotion from his hand, tossed it over the bed and made grabby hands for him instead. He laughed, delighted, and crawled up your body until he could wrap his arms around you. He pulled you into his side and tucked your head beneath his chin, really buckled down for a good, long cuddle.

You smiled as you snuggled into him, hummed contently. “I’m gonna feel that tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“It’s very red and very angry with both of us,” he agreed about your skin. You giggled lightly and didn’t feel any regret over it. “Feel better?”

“You always make me feel better, _sir_ ,” you cooed. You didn’t have to pull back to know his skin had probably flushed that pretty shade of pink it went when he was flustered. He liked the title almost as much as you enjoyed using it.

“Why don’t we nap a little?” he asked, though you already knew you both were going to sleep regardless of what your minds had to say. “Then I’ll grab you a snack and we can marathon your latest addiction in bed.”

“Sounds like the perfect plan,” you agreed.

He pulled back just enough that he could easily angle his lips to slot over yours. You hummed in happy contentment and slung your arms around his neck to deepen it.


End file.
